


Hour of Separation

by kez



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kez/pseuds/kez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes we have to let go of the people we love, Harold... Sometimes it's hard... because they are right there in front of us, but we still can't have them... because they were never ours."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hour of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 2x18. Vaguely spoilery for a couple of scenes near the end. Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own. Title from a quote by Khalil Gibran. _"And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."_

Finch trembled almost unwillingly under Reese's hands.

The ex-op was nearly always gentle, tender. Fingers stroking. Lips lightly grazing flesh.

Tonight he was... harder. Rougher. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the difference, as he slicked his fingers and pressed them inside. The burn and stretch that was greater than normal.

"Finch..." Reese murmured against the back of his neck, nipping tender flesh between his teeth. 

Reese never called him that, not when they are being intimate. It's always Harold, softly murmured and almost teasing, and Finch can always feel the smile against his skin, even if he can't see it, but he can't tonight.

It was still good, Reese's touch. 

It comes in all the right places and even if it feels _off_ , even if his mind can recognise the difference, his body doesn't seem to mind much, his cock heavy with the burn of arousal between his legs.

Finch allowed himself a soft groan, to let a plea for more pass his lips and Reese answered with another finger pressed inside him, stretching him further. Reese didn't speak though, didn't say a word.

Reese gave no warning either, when he pulled his fingers free and replaced them with his cock, hot and hard and suddenly unfamiliar despite the times they'd done this before.

Finch wonders for a moment if perhaps he should call a halt to things. If he should ask Reese why... why it suddenly felt like they were strangers. But he doesn't. He lets Reese slid inside him.

Reese's fingers clutch more tightly against his hip than usual and he suspects, it might ache eventually. But Reese almost immediately starts moving at a steady pace and Finch doesn't think it will really have time to ache, not tonight at least.

Each thrust is angled just right and Reese uses his free hand, wrapped under Finch's body, to touch his cock, to stroke him in a counterpoint that Finch knows he would be incapable of reproducing, if their rolls were reversed. But Reese's control is iron clad and he doesn't let up until Finch is coming with a soft, wordless cry, when he slipped from Finch easily and wandered to the bathroom.

Finch sat a moment, confused and bereft. Reese hadn't come, that much he knew.

"John?" he called through the bathroom door, when his feet would cooperate enough that he felt he could stand, but only the sound of the shower answered him.

He frowned and considered just barging in, demanding an explanation, but perhaps he didn’t have that right.

They'd never assigned labels to this. Never made any declarations, or claimed any feelings other than those, perhaps to two people who simply _understood_ one another. At least, it felt like they did. Until now.

Finch did not understand this.

"I'm tired, I think I'll head home," Reese spoke softly when he emerged, fully dressed and gaze shuttered.

Finch wanted to argue. John had always stayed the night, when they... did this. Woke Finch with teasing kisses and made him eat real food for breakfast – machine allowing. He wanted to ask why, but sitting there, still naked, his own fluids drying on his skin, he found himself suddenly afraid of the answer.

"Sometimes we have to let go of the people we love, Harold..." Reese said suddenly, as if Finch had in fact, asked why, even if he didn't remember uttering the words. "Sometimes it's hard... because they are right there in front of us, but we still can't have them... because they were never ours."

Reese is long gone before Finch figures out what he _means_. What he wasn't saying... unspoken words that are more important than the words actually uttered.

"Oh John..." Finch murmured, in despair.

Because Finch still loves Grace. Will _always_ love Grace and he will never truly be able to let her go. But he's come to love Reese too and perhaps it isn't the same, but it's just as real, just as vivid and true and as much as it doesn't make sense and he is certain people might call him greedy for wanting it, he would grow old with both of them if he could.

Only he can't. He knows that if he does grow old with Grace, it can only be from afar and he'll never really be able to grow old with Reese either. 

Reese is not the sort of man who will live long enough to grow old. Especially in their line of work. A line of work Finch brought him too. Which leaves him with a growing sense of guilt he isn't quite willing to think about most of the time.

But now he understands. He understands why Reese left, why he was different. Why he... why he'd said goodbye, without ever saying the words.

Reese would still be there tomorrow. Still do his job. Still bring Bear treats and Finch tea and doughnuts. He would protect Finch and the numbers and the machine and he would do it all without a word of real complaint. And he would never touch Finch again.


End file.
